The beat of soft rock
by Veronica Lacroix
Summary: A thread of perfect moments, all in one dirty old bar. Rated M for sexual content. Inspired by "Crash Into Me" by Dave Matthews Band.


Wow, this is my first publishing in an extremely long time. To those of you who have followed me, thank you so much! I can't promise that I will be regularly writing fiction at this time - my life's been a little more hectic but! I did write this and decided, why not?

It's a bit AU, and I wrote it as a future piece, although it could really take place anywhere. R&R, please and thank you! :)

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Hours pass and the atmosphere of the country setting bar softens. The nicotine stains on the glass coverings of the lights above the bar cast light with an amber-like hue, making the pale things like her skin glow. Caroline watches it and watches the glass catch it as she circles her finger around the rim of her now empty whiskey glass. Next to her, Damon finishes his bourbon but he's not paying attention to the tender looking at him expectantly to see if he would ask for another. He's too preoccupied with watching how the dirty light catches Caroline's blonde hair, brightening the long waves tonight in lieu of her crafted curls. She's done up for the occasion; a sweetheart tank top, a skirt with a lot of thin ruffles in patterns he can't make out and cowboy boots. The only thing that makes it more perfect is one of his own leather jackets hanging off the back of her chair.

Caroline can feel Damon's eyes on her, and she turns expecting to see boredom written all over his face. The lazy joint isn't usually his forte she knows, but they serve a good bourbon which she knows is more important. Instead his lips are curved into a mischievous smirk and there's a playful little glint to his cerulean eyes. Just as she opens her mouth to ask him what he's thinking, he stands up and off his bar stool and offers his hand to her. Her seat spins as she leaves, placing her hand on top of Damon's open palm. Instantly he tugs her and guides her over to the small dance floor where the lower tables arch around the tiny empty stage.

"You're kidding," she says a bit astounded when he leaves her there in the middle and makes a beeline for the old juke-box on the opposite wall. There's only a few other occupants in the whole of the bar aside from the bartender, one lonely alcoholic at the end of one bar and a couple of older gents at a table talking in low voices. Their conversation hadn't interested her in the last hour, so she didn't even try to eavesdrop. All the same, she can feel her cheeks warm a bit when Damon feeds the machine, selects an uptempo song and strides back toward her, his steps in perfect rhythm to the music.

Her laugh is a little weak and nervous when he meets up with her again, taking both of her hands and walking her about the dance floor for starters. For a moment, Damon wonders why in the hell she's embarrassed – because who gave a damn what these yokels thought? Then he realizes that Caroline's still not quite accustomed to this side of him yet; the side that's good-naturedly spontaneous, that smiles easy, that wants to dance with her. It feels something like relief when she loosens up when claps one hand to her side and holds her other hand aloft, taking the lead in shifting their positions and she gets the bounce in her step that's so required of the dance. He's a little surprised to find out that although she's unfamiliar with the movements, she's got natural rhythm for a dancer. He knew she was good, Caroline Forbes, Miss Mystic Falls had to be, but she was trained in those old outdated steps that he could barely stand when they were popular.

Somewhere in the middle of the second song, Caroline can't help but burst out with a louder, more genuine laugh when Damon dips her. It's unbelievably graceful, but the fact that he's dancing with her in a smoky bar in the middle of nowhere while they tentatively await a call from his brother and hope the plan hasn't gone through is just too strange. Great, but strange. His grin broadens at the sound of it, raising her back up to her feet. He pushes her back off the heels of the hands, and she's thrown back until both their arms are extended before he tugs her spinning back. The move is unfamiliar to her, so unfortunately, she goes straight into him. He catches her with a laugh, but the sweet rare sound is cut off when the music suddenly changes from bright pop tunes to a slow, steady sound of soft rock.

Damon doesn't let go of her, however. He takes her arms and lifts them so that she can drape them over his shoulders and moves his own hands to her waist. The two-step pace they sink into is easy for her to do, reminding her of every slow dance at every school function she had ever been to – but this is a thousand times better because it's with Damon. Caroline looks up from the floor and as always, his expression is different. The playful grin is no longer there, replaced by a look of focus. Their eyes meet and she's physically unable to look away. She doesn't have to wonder what he's looking for; it had taken a long time, but eventually she had come to realize that that look meant he's already found it and he's trying to figure out what to do with it. Her hand goes to the back of his head, running her fingertips over the dark hair there and down the back of his neck and right back up. She has to take a couple of miniature steps closer to him when his arm tightens around her back, bringing her in.

A hand leaves her waist and his knuckle goes to the underside of her chin, tilting her head back. Her eyes instinctively slid closed when he leans in and presses his lips to her. He kisses her chastely, but holds it for a moment longer than she thought he would have. The hand goes back to rest comfortably where her waist curves in, her eyes staying closed and she cherishes the feel of his lips. Caroline can feel Damon's exhale over her cheeks when he rests his forehead against hers, simply holding her close as they sway in a small circle in the center of the dance floor. Her eyes open, watching him in too close of proximity to see in good focus how his own had closed. Then she realizes as his hand moves languidly up and down her back that this is a perfect moment. In spite of everything, he could give her a perfect moment.

The moment blurs and before Caroline can adjust to the transition, she and Damon are out in the narrow alleyway behind the bar. The midsummer's night down in the old country is hot and sticky and smells heavily of jasmine and honeysuckle. But then all the aroma of the deep South is lost in the scent of Damon. His cologne, the shampoo he'd used that morning, the sweet salt of his skin. He has her back pressed against the aging brick, his face lost in the tendrils of her hair as his mouth works against the side of her neck. He's bowed slightly, accommodating for her lack of height – heels weren't exactly prudent in the middle of their mission – and for the life of her, Caroline doesn't care that they're intimate in a dirty back alley, or that Stefan could be calling at any moment. All she knew is that there were far too many inches between their separate bodies. Her hands climbed up to Damon's shoulders, curling her fingers into the soft cotton of his black tee as she tugs him closer.

"Tell me," she whispered recklessly, holding onto him. His hands shifted from her waist, down to the back of her knees above her boots and lifted her up as he straightened. Her long, pale legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, a pleasant sigh on her lips caused by the feather-light kisses Damon left over the top of her bosom, exposed by the cut of her shirt. His warm breath was somehow warmer than the air around them and ironically, made her shiver. The sigh became a whine when he pushed closer to her, the feel of his palms counteracting the scrape of his leather belt and jeans against the bare skin of her thighs beneath the short layers of her skirt. Before she loses the ability to speak coherently, she repeated her phrase with more demand, "Tell me."

Although it pained her to lose his lips against her body, Caroline let go of his shirt to cup his jaw and lift his head, forcing him to meet her gaze. Damon looks up at her with darkened eyes, staring at her with unashamed intensity. Even with all the desire clouding his irises, they somehow remain to be a shade or two lighter than her own, piercing her with their sharpness. Always he seemed able to see straight through her and she never needed to clarify what she meant. He knew. Contrasting the look he was giving her, her grip softened, migrating to his ebony hair, threading her fingers through the silky strands. Right then, Damon could have been holding her in the comfort of their shared bed hundreds of miles away, in the backseat of the familiar Camaro, in the bathroom of a nightclub – anywhere, it didn't matter, because he was holding her. He leaned up, brushing his lips across hers in another kiss but retracted before she could reciprocate.

"I love you." Damon's voice was so low it would have been easily to lose in the barely-there breeze through the alley. His stare never wavered from her eyes, although hers had darted everywhere to document that second – from his lips to his hair to the impossible closeness of his form. That sound was far more satisfying than all the whiskey and the dancing and gentle beat of soft rock in all of the world. On that note, Caroline felt more than justified in pulling her skirt further up her legs, unable to not mirror the smirk growing across Damon's mouth as he broke gaze to look down and see. Again, his hands moved, faster this time and in a flash and the quick sound of seams breaking, her undergarment dropped unceremoniously. Her responding giggle was swallowed up in a kiss, as heated and urgent as it had been before his admittance. She reached down, blindly unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans. His tongue drove itself into her mouth when her right hand moved inside, taking a hold of his hardened member, fingers dragging along the length as she drew him out.

Caroline was trembling as she guided him toward her, completely aroused and ready for him. In the back of her mind, she prayed neither of their phone started to ring all of a sudden. She needed him, right here, right now. Her little gasp of a moan would have resounded in the empty alleyway had her mouth not been secured by Damon's when he entered her. His hands gripped her rear, pushing inside of her relentlessly. Her walls tensed and she was lost to the feeling of fullness. Before she could get quite acquainted to their bodies connecting, his hips reared back only to plunge into her again, his own groan shooting back at the sensation it caused.

Nearly flat against the wall, Caroline couldn't move lest she interrupt their careful balance. She could only succumb to Damon's actions. His hips continued to move to meet hers, quickly and desperately. Their contrastingly slow kiss was still equally as passionate as their making but before long, her lungs heaved in their struggle to draw breath and she had to break the kiss. Damon wasn't as needy; his lips turned to fasten to her collarbone, nipping and sucking in time to the rhythm of his hips. He was unforgiving to her and her body and she wasn't even going to begin to ask for an apology – it felt way too good to be taken like this. Her back rubbed against the hard brick, her thighs clenched at his waist and out of her mouth came spilling a thread of murmurs, the only coherent thing being, "Damon... Oh, god, _Damon_."

The sound of his name somewhere near his ear, spoken so sensually, must have drove Damon on all the more. He moved faster and Caroline could feel herself being pushed closer and closer to the edge with every passing second. Her unintelligible mutterings grew in volume to the point that Damon had to begin kissing her again before she drew attention from anyone who might be nearby. Her internal muscles worked hard in revolt, aching to be satisfied. His teeth tugged at her bottom lip and she noticed his thrusts had distinctly lost and regained their pattern – that was her signal that he was nearing his end as well. A part of her didn't want it to stop, wanted him to make love to her behind that dingy country bar for hours, maybe even until sunrise. But her body refused to listen and she fell overboard with a quiver as she clutched at him, unable to even find the breath to cry out. One of Damon's hands slapped against the wall almost in retaliation to her orgasm as it sent him over the edge as well, his long moan muffled when he dropped his face into her chest. She could feel him release deep inside her, slowing his movements to a stop.

Damon was always quicker at recovering than she was and Caroline's eyes only opened again when he was lifting her back from the wall, relieving her of the brick. She could see the glisten of the fine sheen of sweat that was over his forehead and smell the moisture coating his skin elsewhere as it mingled with the smell of their sex. Her kiss-swollen lips curved up in a gentle smile, her arms relaxing as they wound around his neck and her legs did they same as she was being supported by his able arms. Her words came through like a hum in her bliss, kissing his face tenderly, "Mm. I love you."

As if to both punish and reward her for her sweetness, Damon had her crushed against the wall again. His mouth roamed over her jaw and throat with fleeting, moist kisses, attacking her thoroughly. They tickled ridiculously and Caroline couldn't hold back the almost shrill laughter that escaped from her. Her shoulders shook with the force of it and she drew back her arms in an effort to push him away, protesting, "St – stop! Damon! Quit it!"

"Stop wriggling," he commanded but by the tone of his voice she could tell he was amused. "Unless you want to go again." That earned him a light smack on his shoulder which in turn earned her a pointed buck of his hips. By the time he retreated, he was chuckling too and they were both remained in high spirits when he set her back down on her feet.

"You couldn't just let me take them off?" Caroline gave him a look, picking up her torn panties off the ground as he was fastening his belt. He rolled his eyes at her, snatching them out of her hands and skillfully tossing them into the trash several yards away. "And you were being so romantic."

"I'm _always _romantic," Damon retorted, ignoring her chiding look. He grabbed her hand and spun her around, pulling her into him just as he had on the dance floor. His arrogant smirk had returned and so had her laughter. He was just full of perfect moments tonight. Unfortunately, just as she was prepared to start kissing him again, the phone started vibrating in his pocket. He let go of her to answer it, reading a text briefly. "Stefan. Time to go."

"Okay," she sighed. The moment was over. It was time to get back to the mission. Just as she had started to walk away, she jumped an inch off the ground, yelping an 'ow!'. Damon had swung his palm and smacked her bottom, knowing full well that it was bare beneath the skirt. She frowned momentarily, covering the sting with her own hand, watching Damon shake his head. "Don't pout, Barbie."

He threw an arm around her shoulders, walking with her back toward the parking lot. Gently, he tilted her head in order to kiss her hair, speaking again in a lower voice. "Next stop, maybe there'll be better music. Maybe even a motel room and we'll have all night to be romantic."


End file.
